The Artist
by Xmarksthespot
Summary: During a one-day exhibit at a museum in Burgress, Jack notes how every one of his friends have at least one artistic interpretation of them, while no one has accepted the existence of either Jack Frost or Old Man Winter (or: Jack finally learns if his sister made it out alive or fell through with him after he was dragged into the icy waters).


**Title**: The Artist  
**By**: Xmarksthespot  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own.  
**Notes**: Found this in my bucket of unpublished completed works. I had this belief that when Jack was alive, he was the source of his sister's imaginations, feeding her stories of every "mythical" being there was.

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"You worry too much, Tooth. Nothing wrong with break!" The bearded man pointed out, as he tiptoed—attempted to—across the marble floors, leading their expedition group. He nodded his head over to the oldest, though smallest figure with a grin. "Right, Sandy?"

The golden man perked up at the mention of his name, and nodded his head enthusiastically with a sand carved smile hovering above his head.

While Christmas and Easter came once a year, thus giving North and Bunny a little more lenience every once in a while, breaks were tougher for the Sandman and Tooth Fairy—_especially_ on the Tooth Fairy, despite her having thousands of other workers capable of managing without her guidance for the night. Luckily for the group of friends, Sandy wasn't as paranoid when it came to falling behind, as a whoosh of the golden granules worked their magic quite quickly when he wanted them to.

"Oi, you're the one who wan'ed to come 'ere in the first place, Tooth," Bunny pointed out, cautious of his surrounding as to not knock something over. Sandy basically had to put the security guard to sleep the last time the pooka _almost_ broke an exquisite vase from the Ming dynasty. "I still don't see the reason fer us to be 'ere."

The fairy made a quick one eighty in the air, facing her friends. "Well I didn't think you guys would want to check it out _right away_," she said, obviously still concerned about her birds back home, but she fished out the pamphlet almost immediately after—Baby Tooth, the discoverer of said advertisement from the bedroom of one dentist's cavity-filled patient, lingered nearby and squeaked at the images.

"You're just worried they'll get your pouch wrong," a white haired boy joked, making his way around Bunny and up towards Tooth. He stole a quick glance of the paper in her hand before flying down to North and Sandy. Jack nonchalantly placed his staff along his shoulder, and passed a grin towards the others. He was eager for their nighttime adventure.

It was rare for all of the Guardians to get together, especially with their busy schedules. Jack had plenty of time himself, now that the Northern hemisphere made its transition to spring and the Southern hemisphere to fall. He made sure to visit each of them whenever he could, but there was rarely an opportunity—aside from saving the world from eternal darkness—for all five to get together.

"Besides, Jaime said this exhibit's only going to be in Burgess for a short time. We might as well enjoy it while it's up."

"Right, 'cause we can't just magically pop up anywhere we wan'," Bunny said sarcastically.

They continued to bicker with each other, occasionally interrupted by North's booming laughter, until they reached the end of the hallway where a series of portraits decorated the walls, each adorned with their own bronze framing and highlighted by a golden plaque beneath them.

Jack instantly flew to the farthest one on the right, eyeing the detail of the famous paintings one by one in a series.

"I think this person is _spot on_, Bunny. Don't you think?" The ice boy said with a cheeky grin, turning midair with his thumb pointed to the frame. He waited until the pooka made his way over to the image before bursting into laughter.

_Of course_ the Easter Bunny would be pink and surrounded by a collection of hens and their magical eggs. It wasn't really an original interpretation of the Easter Bunny, but it was still enough to pull out a rambunctious chuckle from the majority of the group—a silent one from Sandy—and to pull down the arches of Bunny's brows.

Soon after, they split amongst themselves across the room, looking at the artwork that depicted what _children's story characters_ looked like over the ages. Santa: the jolly man, Tooth: the bright fairy covered in golden dust and not a speck of a feather anywhere on her body, Bunny: a rabbit of all sorts of colours with ribbons or ties around him, and even Sandy: a wise, old man wearing a robe and a handful of sand in his hand. Even Baby Tooth had a painting of her with the Tooth Fairy, though it was more of an intense eagle or falcon than a hummingbird.

All in all, it was a great night for Jack to have a nice laugh—mostly directed at Bunny. North and Sandy seemed to be intrigued by what others thought of them, especially Sandy who enjoyed adding sand to his body and morphing into one of the artwork's depiction.

It wasn't just the Guardians whose paintings and sculptures the museum had up. Jack noticed that there were spirits too, seasonal ones, and other holiday and folklore characters. He had never met Cupid or New Year's Eve before, and he wasn't even sure what they looked like, but the idea of the two babies hanging around one another in a crib was mildly amusing.

He gulped nervously each time he made his way to the next painting. While he knew it was unlikely for there to be _anything_ on Jack Frost, or even Old Man Winter, he had been hoping—since Baby Tooth pointed out the museum brochure—that _maybe_ this exhibit would be special. But as he found himself nearing the end of the art collection, Jack lowered his eyes and realized that maybe hanging out with a bunch of popular figures had given him too much hope for himself.

He could see his reflection on the glass barriers that protected the paintings, extending his fingertips to touch the mirrored blue-eyed, white haired boy in front of him. It only reminded him further that very few people knew what he looked like, even fewer that would attempt to draw him. Jaime and his friends were growing up, and soon he'd be out of believers again.

Jack finally swallowed the lump in his throat and his arm fell from the newly frosted glass when he felt a large hand fall onto his shoulders.

"Ah, New Year's Eve," North said with a chuckle. "He vill be devastated to hear he is turned into baby again." Then guiding the boy, he added: "Come Jack. There is more to look at—perhaps someone gave Bunny ability to walk on hind legs, yes?"

The youngest of the Guardians forced a grin, and flew alongside North down the aisle of holiday portraits. But the two didn't walk for long, as Tooth's gasp lured their attention away from the walls.

"Jack," she called. She reached out her hand to the very last portrait of the collection. Even Baby Tooth seemed to linger in the air much more silently than usual. The multi-coloured girl craned her neck slightly, facing Jack with the utmost look of shock on her face. "It's you…"

While everyone headed towards the portrait that Tooth was observing, Jack launched himself towards it. With hands on either side of the frames, his eyes skimmed through the party of people. There was Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, The Sandman…Halloween and Valentine spirits, characters whose existences were yet to be proven but were there at the party table anyway, and then...

"But that's…That's…" Jack stuttered, wide-eyed at his inclusion. He turned towards the others, and the shift from his position allowed them all to see what it was that made him and Tooth so astonished.

"It's a replica," Bunny was the first to say. He nodded his head over to Sandy who silently pointed to a nearby sign; he walked over towards it.

Jack remained still though, watching his twin glow amongst friends in the portrait. But how—how did they know? How did they know Jack Frost would become friends with the Guardians? He wasn't even a Guardian in that image; he was just a regular boy. How did they know what he had _looked like_ back then?

"Sketched and painted by Overlan' of Burgess," Bunny read out loud, enough to pull Jack's attention back to him.

Behind Bunny, Tooth read the next passage.

"Although presumed male, recent studies have led people to believe that Overland was in fact a woman, due to the artist's strange attachment for the figure above, only known as _J._"

Jack shook his head in confusion. "Why would they—she—have to pretend to be a guy?"

"Seventeen hundreds were not a friendly place for women, my friend," North explained, still eyeing the portrait whose frames were still tightly bound to Jack's hands.

Jack couldn't move from the spot though. Not even to react to Baby Tooth's pecks on his cheek and high pitched squeaks. Jack stared and studied the painting, switching from the brown haired boy with a face identical to his, to his own reflection in the glass. He looked happy—the boy in the painting—like he belonged.

He blinked a few times, mouth quivering and overflowing with words, but like Sandy, was speechless. The others tried to capture his attention, but Jack wanted to soak it in. Finally, snapping himself out of a trance, he looked over towards the others.

"Y-You said this was painted by a woman named Overland?" He asked. Overland_. Overland. _It sounded too familiar. It sounded soothing when the word escaped his pale blue lips.

Tooth nodded, and glanced back down at the information booklet left on the podium for guests to read. She flipped the pages before landing on the one about the particular painting that Jack was so enthralled with—the painting with his one and only portrait, or so it seemed.

"Apparently this was the artist's last painting before her death at the age of 86. She had done many other paintings before this one, but it's the most popular. It says here: 'Overland had left one final message about that painting which often intrigued the minds of other artists.'"

"An' what was that?" Bunny asked.

But Jack didn't bother listening to his friends anymore. He just looked back at the happy boy in front of him, with bright brown eyes and hair to match, a warm cloak that covered a wool sweater beneath. Jack could feel the hairs of the sweater tickling his now frozen skin, could smell the soil from the stains of the cloak, could _see_ himself with the cabin wood hair, laughing in the forest that was the background for the painting.

He had never seen that particular painting before, but one look in the back, at the trees that cascaded around the figures before him, and he knew where exactly they were. He knew he had been to those woods before. And with one look, finally darting passed the framed image and towards the golden plaque below it, he knew that this was his all-time favourite painting, because—

_To J, who saved my life. To J, who always believed in my abilities. To J, who always believed in the supernatural._

—he knew exactly who had painted it.

_To J, to whom, I believe in._

_._

_._

_._

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**A/N:** I decided not to name the sister, because there's too much debate on what her name truly is, and in my experience, sometimes I like the story a little less when I end up not agreeing with the name, so I gave her a pseudonym instead. Hope you guys liked it!


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